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Vampire Sunday

My name is Thomas Hartwell and I am a vampire. Saying that after over a century as a blood shadow doesn’t make it any less shocking, even though I have spent more time on this earth as a blessed one than a mortal. The 100 years, or so, was pure torture, except for the random acts of blood-letting and violence that made me one of the most feared disruptive forces of my generation.

My story and the story of my family has been told before, but I thought it was important to fill in the gaps of the journey from my perspective—an autobiographical look if you will—from the very beginning in San Francisco to the time I hit the shores of Beach Haven, New York.

This account will serve as an extended therapy session for a creature purported to exist without a soul. But I will let you in on a little secret: we have evolved greatly over the years and now have a heightened sense of self-awareness and genuine care for others around us (if we like them). You know what happens to people who we don’t like, or threaten the very safety of family: they become little more than a blood snack in a long line of people whose veins have been opened by my razor-sharp fangs. I wish I was a pacifist, but that’s what comes with being a head of the household: protection is my gift.